Tales of the Winter Wolf, Vol. 2 Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  Charmed

  Crash and Burn

  Wild Wolf

  Index

  Titles by RJ Blain

  Dedication

  Winter Wolf

  Tales of the Winter Wolf, Vol. 2

  by RJ Blain

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher or author

  excluding the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  © 2015 RJ Blain

  ISBN: 978-1-928148-05-1

  For more information or to contact the author, please visit rjblain.com

  Special thanks to Brooke Johnson (http://brooke-johnson.com)

  Tales of the Winter Wolf, Volume Two

  Charmed

  While Nicolina is relieved to have survived her first quarter at Stanford, there are still a few surprises left in store for her, leaving her with a lot more questions than answers… and an extra mouth to feed.

  Crash and Burn

  Richard’s worst fears come to pass when Nicolina’s plane crashes, leaving him to control her parents or witness two of North America’s most dangerous Fenerec rampage through a crowded airport.

  Wild Wolf

  In Richard’s desperation to dominate Desmond and his mate, he has done far more harm to himself than anyone ever suspected. With his human half in trouble and fading fast, it falls to his wolf to find a way to save them both. To make matters worse, it’s Christmas Eve, and Richard’s past once again comes back to haunt him.

  Charmed

  While Nicolina is relieved to have survived her first quarter at Stanford, there are still a few surprises left in store for her, leaving her with a lot more questions than answers… and an extra mouth to feed.

  I loved tests.

  My father blamed my Fenerec heritage; tests were challenges of skill and wit instead of strength. My sister thought I was insane, and for once, I was inclined to agree with her. While my classmates fretted, I basked in the anticipation of once again proving I was worthy of my spot at Stanford.

  If I didn’t ace the exams and pull a perfect GPA, my father was going to skin me alive. I shivered.

  If he was particularly annoyed, he might even try to pull me from university, something he assured me at least once a week he could do if he really wanted to. While appeasing his relentless need for perfection was necessary, I wasn’t aiming for the Dean’s List for his sake.

  It was for mine.

  I hadn’t bought my way into the university. Stanford didn’t throw scholarships at everyone, and if I wanted to afford attending without needing my father’s help, I had to keep my grades up.

  After what had happened the disastrous week before the exams, I wasn’t sure if I’d succeed. It was bad enough that I had to wear a scarf to cover the bruises around my throat. Some of my professors didn’t approve of my sudden absence, and they weren’t afraid to tell me about it.

  If I heard another lecture about the responsibilities of university students, I was going to kill somebody.

  My last examination of the quarter was the hardest one of the lot, but at the same time, I looked forward to it. I liked math. It had rules, logic, and promised a challenge. Numbers told stories, and statistics was all about finding the truth hidden underneath the stories the numbers told.

  Maybe I was a lot more like my father than I wanted to admit. It was a hunt, pure and simple. Instead of rabbits, I stalked solutions to problems, and I liked winning.

  When it was finished, I was exhausted. I almost considered just sprawling over my desk and taking a nap; it wouldn’t be the first time a student had done that this year after an exam. Grumbling, I pushed my chair away and stood so I wouldn’t end up the laughing stock of the day. I was the only student left in the room.

  My professor, who insisted we call him Sam, waved me over. He’d been one of the few not to scold me yet. I tensed at the thought of another lecture, approaching his desk warily. “Sir?” I asked.

  “Sam,” he corrected.

  “Dr. Sam,” I murmured, earning a glare from him.

  “Someone left this for you before the examinations and asked me to give it to you when you left.” Pulling a white box wrapped with pink ribbons out from beneath his desk, he offered it to me.

  I blinked, accepting it from him with a puzzled frown. “What’s this?”

  “I’d say it’s a corsage box, Miss Desmond. See you next quarter,” he replied, waving me away with a flick of his hand. I tucked the box under my arm, flushing from embarrassment.

  Sending a corsage was a stunt my father would pull just to embarrass me. Grabbing my bag, I headed out the door. Too curious to wait until I made it home to my apartment, I ducked into the nearest bathroom, double checked to make certain I was alone, and opened the box.

  Curled silver ribbons surrounded a single pink rose. Sucking in a breath, I lifted it out of the box. A fine silver chain dangled from the flower. Hanging from the end was a silver charm matching my bracelet, but the rose was fashioned of red gold. A glittering yellow gem was buried in its heart. When I flipped the corsage over, the chain was attached to the clasp of a black and silver choker, which was firmly tied to a silver hair clip so the corsage could be worn in my hair.

  I touched my fingers to my throat. My neck was still too bruised to wear the choker, unless I wanted to show everyone irrefutable proof of what had happened last week. At least the marks were already starting to heal.

  I checked the box, but there was no note indicating who it was from. Humming thoughtfully, I shrugged, grabbed the scrunchy containing my hair in a messy bun, and gave it a yank. It took ten minutes to get the corsage clipped into place over my ear.

  While my fingers didn’t make a very effective brush for my hair, which fell down my back to my waist, I tamed it enough for my satisfaction before tucking the empty box into my bag and making my way across campus. I was halfway to my apartment when one of the girls from my Statistics class ran up to join me.

  Carla circled me with the ruthless intensity of a shark. As a second-year student, she didn’t spend too much time with me, Stanford’s oddity. When she did talk to me, it was either a hello, goodbye, or a compliment about what I was wearing.

  Her eyes fixed on the corsage. “You have a secret admirer,” she said, grinning. As was her way, she touched without asking, something that drove me insane. She ran the chain and attached charm between her fingers. “It’s really pretty, Nicolina.”

  I flushed at the thought of having a secret admirer—something I doubted ever would happen while I was at Stanford and the youngest student on campus. “Sure, that’s likely to happen. It’ll rain men first,” I predicted.

  She laughed. “When it does, call me.”

  I hesitated, not sure how friendly Carla actually wanted to be. “I don’t have your number.”

  While most girls kept their phones stashed in their purse, I kept mine in my pocket, and Carla knew it. She dug for it while I squeaked a protest. Once she claimed my cell, she swiped her finger across the display, only to be thwarted by the passcode screen. Turning to me, she made an impatient gesture.

  Considering it was the closest I’d gotten to having a real conversation with another girl at Stanford, I shuffled my bag to one arm and unlocked the device for her.

  Moments later, after typing away at my phone, she shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Now you have my number. Fair’s fair,” she declared, holding out hers after unlocking the display.

  “Fair’s fair,” I agreed, setting my bag down s
o I could enter my contact info. “It’s probably from my father.”

  “Secret admirer,” Carla countered, stooping to pick up my bag. “Are you done with your exams for the year?”

  “Last one was Statistics. You?”

  “Free at last,” she replied. “Hey, you don’t live on campus, do you?”

  “My place is down the street.”

  “I’m having a party in my dorm in a few hours. Want to come?”

  I gaped at her in astonishment. “Me?”

  Draping her arm across my shoulders, Carla steered me in the direction of the street. “Sure. It’ll be fun. We might go see if any of the boys are doing anything later. The others are curious about you, but you know, you’re so quiet and vanish after class like a ghost. If it weren’t for the fact we see you hiding in the back of the room, we wouldn’t believe you actually exist!”

  Reality came crashing down on me, and I sighed. In six hours, I had a flight back home to Seattle, and if I missed it because of a dorm party, my father was going to come to Stanford and murder me. “I have to catch a nine o’clock flight home,” I said, slumping as we walked.

  “That’s rough. Hey, I’ll walk you home. That okay? Maybe next time for the party.”

  “Sure,” I said, reclaiming my bag. “I’d like that.”

  “Great. I’ll come calling, just you wait. And if it does start raining men, you have my number.”

  I laughed so I wouldn’t wince or cry.

  Why did I have to think about Richard and his stupid comment? He was right, and that pissed me off even more. Even if I could go to Carla’s party, I’d ruin it for everyone; the college boys wanted nothing to do with me. I was either too smart or too young or too something, and they avoided me like I had the plague because of it. Determined not to let Richard’s opinions ruin my chance to make a friend, I forced a smile. “Where are you from?”

  “Los Angeles. You?”

  “Seattle. When do you head home?”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll be driving.”

  I wished I could drive back to Seattle, but while my father had grudgingly allowed me to get my license, after crashing Sanders’s van a week ago, I doubt he’d let me behind the wheel of anything again until I turned eighteen.

  He had zero tolerance for drinking and driving—or doing anything reckless at all while driving. I had broken all of his rules in one fell swoop and was still waiting for the ax to fall about it. With my luck, the repair and tow bill for the vehicle would be waiting for me when I got home.

  “Any ideas who your secret admirer might be?” Carla asked, once again toying with my corsage. “The charm is really pretty. I didn’t even know they made them like that.”

  “I didn’t either. I bought the bracelet because I liked the moonstone,” I admitted, lifting my arm so she could see the silver encircling my wrist.

  “Oh, that’s really pretty. It’s going to look great on the bracelet.”

  “Thanks.” I thought about who could be the secret admirer, if it wasn’t my father. Unable to think of a single name, I shrugged. There was only one boy I had spoken to for more than a few minutes, and that was Harold, and only because we had been lab partners. “I had a lab with Harold… Turcott? I think his last name is Turcott.”

  Carla wrinkled her nose. “Turcott. Yeah, I know him. He’s a creep. You don’t want him. You want Alan from our Statistics class. He’s the black-haired boy in the front row. He skipped a year. He’s only seventeen, so he’s right up your alley. He’s a looker, too.”

  I wasn’t aware I had an alley, but I was intrigued by the idea I wasn’t the only underage teen in the school. “Huh. Alan, is it? I’ll watch out for him.”

  It was weird heading home with someone. No one was stupid enough to cause trouble near the university so close to where Stanford’s Alpha lived. While Pedro owned the building I lived in, he chose to stay in the villa next door, something my father approved of.

  With an Alpha Fenerec so close by, I was as safe as my father could make me without lurking outside my apartment each night. My apartment was on the second floor in the coveted corner facing the west side, which offered me a view of the campus and the sunset. Carla whistled as I held open the door for her.

  Maybe the marble floors with gold leafing on the crowning was a bit much, but Fenerec didn’t believe in short cuts.

  “Damn, girl. You’re loaded.”

  I snorted, pressing the button for the elevator. “My father is, and he makes me pay off every last cent of rent. I wanted a cheaper place, but I couldn’t find one so close to campus.”

  “No kidding. Most of us either stay in the dorms or we have places farther out because it’s cheaper. Martha lives in San Francisco, and she’s always complaining about the commute.”

  “Martha?”

  “The red head in Statistics. You’ll like her. You won’t meet a nicer girl. I’d say prettier, but I have a feeling once you ditch the sweaters and scarves and do something with your hair, you’ll be a strong contender.” Carla grinned at me, dancing her way out of the elevator when it reached the second floor. “Who knew you had such long, pretty hair tied up in those messy buns you like. Come on, girl. With a head like that, you have to show it off. I almost didn’t recognize you with it down and wearing the flower clip.”

  I followed at a more dignified and sedate pace, coming to a halt when I saw Stanford’s Alpha outside of my apartment. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, Pedro made an imposing figure.

  Carla backpedalled, her eyes wide. “Who is that hunk?” she hissed at me.

  Hunk? I hesitated, wondering what she was talking about. He was Pedro; he was tall, had dark hair to go with his tan, and while I didn’t think he was ugly, I didn’t think he was all that easy on the eyes, either.

  He had the sharp edge most Fenerec had, and that was enough to warn me off. It didn’t help matters he was my godfather. Once, I had called him my dogfather, which had earned me a spanking from my father.

  “His name’s Pedro. He’s my landlord,” I replied before bracing myself to deal with my father’s friend. “Pedro? Is something up?”

  Pushing away from the wall, he stalked towards us, his gaze focused on Carla. She froze as most did when encountering a Fenerec for the first time. The wolf-yellow gleam in his eyes worried me. He halted in front of us, sweeping into a bow. “Mademoiselle, it is an honor to meet you,” he murmured.

  There was something seriously wrong with a Spaniard using French to woo my classmate. I groaned, barely resisting the urge to slap my forehead, remembering it was the start of the winter rut.

  No matter what Carla said about me, she was the pretty one—and she was over eighteen. I should’ve known better. In the hopes I wouldn’t end up watching them flirt outside of my apartment, I said, “Pedro, this is Carla. She’s a classmate.”

  Mate was the wrong word to say around a Fenerec during winter. Pedro arched a brow at me, grinning. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carla.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” Carla whispered, her eyes still wide.

  I wondered if she was the fainting type and if I liked her enough to catch her if she melted into a puddle at Pedro’s feet. “What do you need, Pedro? I have to head to the airport in a few hours.”

  “I’m aware. I’m the one driving you there, Cariña. Your father sent you something. Please, deal with him so he will leave me alone,” Pedro complained, opening the door into my apartment. “Please don’t scream.”

  I tensed, immediately on guard and uncertain if I wanted to find out what was in my apartment. “Pedro, why would I scream?”

  “He allowed your sister a kitten and felt you needed to likewise be engaged with a pet. As I do not allow dogs or cats in my building, he… got creative.”

  I shook my head, backing away. “No way. He did not get my sister a kitten. I hate cats, Pedro. Hate them. You hear me? If he got her a kitten, I am not getting on that flight. Not happening. It is not happeni
ng.”

  Carla laughed. “You’re afraid of cats!”

  “I’m not!” I flushed, realizing I had squealed the denial.

  Pedro cheated. Before I could make my escape, he knocked my legs out from under me with one arm, catching my back with the other as I started to fall. I shrieked, dropping my bag and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Pedro!”

  “We are family friends,” Pedro explained to Carla, sweeping into my apartment. “I’ve known her since she was just a little thing, terrorizing her father from the moment she could crawl.”

  At the rate I was going, my face was going to burst into flames. “Pedro!”

  “And here is your new pet,” Pedro announced, setting me on my feet in my living room. An aquarium took up a corner of my apartment near the window, easily three feet wide and on a stand that put it at eye level with me.

  A pink fuzzy spider stared at me with its beady little eyes. It wasn’t entirely pink, but its bright legs offset the black and silver of its body. It was creepy, it was crawly, it had eight legs, and as if sensing I was about to scream, it skittered into hiding beneath a log in its glassy prison.

  It wasn’t much larger than a quarter, and I already had visions of it walking over my face while I tried to sleep.

  “That is so cool!” Carla said, bumping against me in her eagerness to peer through the glass. “Is that a tarantula?”

  It was a living nightmare, but I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to run and hide in my room, slam the door, and not emerge until the next quarter started.

  “Yes. He is a Mexican Pink,” Pedro said, sounding as proud as a father with a newborn. “When your father told me you were to have a pet, as your sister had conned him into a kitten, I suggested him. He will be affectionate, and he won’t throw hairs at you often, and he’ll only bite if you’re mean to him. I’ll care for him while you’re at home and teach you to care for him when you return. He also sends this to you,” Pedro said, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a small jewelry box, which he gave to me.